'Cooking doesn't get tougher than this!'

A review of the Lynchmeister’s menu

Brief Bio: Charlie Lynch is a 21 year old girl/Amazon woman. Her hobbies include fake tan, sitting in bed with her laptop, dancing for me in her pants, all things Chinese, playing with her orang-utan boobs, letting me play with her monkey paws, and finally: cooking.

Yes. The chica can cook. We met in our first year of university. In the common room for

Waterside Court

(student accommodation)

Over the year we bonded. We both discovered our shared passion for slippery tampons, urinating publicly in front of couples on dates,  hairy bumholes, sweaty vaginas, sweaty cleavages, CHANNNNGGGEEEEEE and snogging each others faces off. And this was just within our first year.

But it wasn’t until our third and final year that we got down to business. I knew she could cook, but I didn’t fully recognize the extent of her culinary skills.

I was at her house, talking about  favourite meals, favourite cooking shows e.c.t when suddenly she recognized a need. My need. A need to give this big haired, loud mouthed weirdo, some home cooking. She was filled with sorrow and despair to see that I had been reduced from fine dining to cheese and salad cream sandwiches with a side of crisps, and therefore she stepped into action.

Taking my chubby little hand firmly in her monkey paw, she whisked me down to the Mecca that is Sainsbury. Now of course I have been to Sainsbury before, but she showed me a whole different world! No longer did I stare hopelessly at ready meals in a confused state, I was taken to the salad bar!

It was extraordinary! I was shown the meat counter, the fish counter (how strong is the temptation to just grab a fish and slap some-one around the chops with it?!) the cheese bar!

But first things first, I needed to be weaned off my habit of cooking everything in wine, cheese and cream, and wrapping everything in bacon. Did you know there are meats other than chicken?

It was a strange foreign world and Charlie was my translator.

There are a few meals that stand out in my memory.

The Ravioli:

Cooked from scratch ( I helped by going next door and asking for some flour) without the aid of a recipe. A good skill that, using just your eye for measurements. With a creamy sauce and salmon filling. At least I think it was salmon. But none-the-less it was a taste sensation!

The day of rhyming beef Wellington:

Starter: Olive bread, chutney, smoked goats’ cheese (because unsmoked will ‘Simply not do’) Parma Ham (‘we have a winner!’) This course was scrummy. Simple, but full of flavour. Throughtout this meal we spoke in rythme.
This is simply divine!
It would challenge Rick Stein.
He sends shivers down my spine.
Such flavour is surely a crime?!

Main: Beef Wellington. Now beef Wellington is a tricky customer. Notoriously hard to cook right, as you must not dry out the beef, burn the pastry, or let the pate cook dry. But she did it justice and neither of us suffered from projectile vomiting or the squits.

Pudding: Chocolate Brownies. She muffed this up proper, undercooked and runny. What a failure.  Haha. But all was good as we just ate more of the starter!

Shit that happened in the year

Well I had a shot at writing a short story earlier, but it was absolute drivel. Later tonight I may stick one of my old ones up here.

So, for now, I decided to write about my experiences this year, seeing as the new year is almost upon us. And I threw in a few major (and I mean major as in, ‘I can distinctly remember this happening because it was weird/wonderful’; not: ‘this news shook the world’) news stories. Please bear in mind that I’m not the most up-to-date person when it comes to current events. To be honest a lot of the news is very samey, in my eyes anyway.

January: After I told all my friends I was leaving to move to Turkey, and they had thrown me a ‘bon voyage’ party (and made a rather spectacular Beatles cake) I announced that I had changed my mind and decided to stay in sunny old England. I had planned to finish my study  in Istanbul, but after it took them ages to get back to me about accommodation, and a rather spectacular freak out on my account, I pulled out (snigger).  Luckily they (my friends) didn’t seem to mind, unlike my university, who gave me a ticking off for wasting their time, blah blah. Ah well, I’m sure they got over it. Mind you, there was a rumour going round that the international department was on the cusp of being closed down. Two totally unrelated events I’m sure.

Meanwhile, in Haiti, a devastating earthquake occurs. And celebrities decide the situation needs a special song to raise funds.

February: Big news event? Shrove Tuesday. The nation goes mad for pancakes. Except me, as I exhausted the idea of pancakes in my first year of uni, alongside my housemates. Our addiction grew so bad that we would go door to door begging for flour and eggs. Not much of note going on in my personal life, spent most of our time in Blue Rooms of Bath or at university struggling to come up with a dissertation topic. Meanwhile I found this clip of the Northern Ballet Theatre students flipping pancakes. Splendid. In all honesty their combined dance and pancake flipping skills left much to be desired. http://northernballet.com/index.php?q=node/795

March: And so winter rolled into spring as it inevitably does, and it was time to crack out the factor 50, (hey I’m fair skinned!) And that’s all I can remember about March. Was Easter in March or April this year? 

April: Dissertation panic sets in. After avoiding my history teacher for 3 months it was time to bite the bullet and get help. I bravely announced my topic was punk music. A horrified silence ensued, followed by a, ‘So what’s that got to do with history?’ My amazing reply? ‘Err it happened in the past therefore its history!’

20 minutes later, made up of arguing and tears (hers, after I jabbed her in the eye for giving me back chat) it was agreed my dissertation would be on feminism and punk. Except I have very few feminist beliefs. Men usually are better than us. I mean us women, we’re good, but men tend to do things better. Lol, I’m such a subservient whore. But that’s another kettle of sperm herring. But in punk music, women did okay I guess (which was the general conclusion of my dissertation) Here is an excerpt of my dissertation (for legal copyright reasons some of this ((probably all of it though,))is stolen from the web)

‘‘Punk was central to an understanding of the resurgence of youth politics in Britain during its years. Though it did not banish the unpopularity of left wing politics it instead proved to be a mobilising and energising force, which has helped to consolidate developments such as Rock against racism. In the late 1970’s Rock against racism was set up when various artists such as Eric Clapton and David Bowie made inflammatory racist gestures and comments.                                        

There were also overlaps between the degree of punk style and feminist style which are more than just coincidental. Although the stiletto heels, miniskirts and suspenders, were, despite their exposed connotations, still unpalatable to many feminists, both punk girls and feminists wanted to overturn the accepted ideas about what constitutes femininity, and often used similar stylish devices to upset notions of ‘public propriety.’[1]’’

GOOD EH??!!

---

[1] A.McRobbie, feminism and Youth Culture, (Mac Press 1995) p.41

I have decided to also upload some of my favourite Cyanide and Happiness comics. They are a veritable hoot.

My first douchey blog.

GOOD DAY TO YOU!

Soooo. Seeing as I want to be a writer, I figured I best do some actual writing.

And as I’ve just left uni, and started work, I figured the best way to ease myself back into it, would be with a nice blog. ( I know blogs are pretentious but it was this or a diary, and the last diary I kept, was when I was 8, it was a 101 Dalmatians one, and had just one entry: ‘Went to Tesco today with my mum. Got some milk.’ Riveting. )

I may on occasion put the odd short story on here, or bits of my novel. So feel free to slate them.

I’m going to guess that the only people who read this will be friends who’ve I badgered into reading it, or the odd acquaintance from Facebook. But just in case, and because one can never get enough of finding out new random facts about Kathleen, here’s a little bio.

My full name is Kathleen Margaret Vaughan. Yes, the middle name is unfortunate. I’m 21, I hail from Dorset, but now live in Bath. I’m loud, childish, and have the brilliant ability to bring out peoples inner weirdness. I love food in all forms, but can’t really cook. My favourite smell is petrol, and Diesel:Fuel for life for men, not mixed together though.

I like to make people laugh, (and if you can make me laugh then I will actually love you) am a little bit of a pyromaniac and can move my eye lids in and out- a very handy skill indeed.

Oh yeah, 'lackadaiscal' it's my word of the moment! It means someone who is lazy and shows little interest in what they do! A fitting description of my self.